


there's a thing between us

by Mizzy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Eames/Arthur) The world is coming to an end, or they're trapped in a dream—there's no other explanation as to why Arthur would be packing up to go home before everyone else.</p><p>Except reality's much crueller than Eames' brain imagines: Arthur's going to his cousin's wedding.</p><p>Oh, and Eames is his plus one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a thing between us

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Crack, crack, shmoop, crack. I wrote something REALLY SERIOUS and my brain went WRITE RIDICULOUSLY CRACKY FLUFF TO COMPENSATE. If someone can decipher why my brain does this, I will love you forever.

The world is coming to an end. Eames is positive. Hell's probably got an ETA of 5 minutes and counting.

Or they're in a dream.

Eames rubs his totem surreptitiously, and mentally crosses off that latter option. It's real life, and Arthur is packing up _before anyone else_.

He pitches himself back against a table and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Am I going mad?" he mutters, ostensibly to himself but of course Cobb overhears.

"Hazard of the job," Cobb returns cheerfully. He follows Eames' gaze to where Arthur's shutting down his laptop. "Oh, no. That's actually happening. I gave Arthur the day off."

"Cheers," Eames tells him. He feels that antsy rush again, to pack up and move halfway across the globe, but he knows he's just being irrational. He's the one that made the decision to stay with Cobb's team permanently—getting shot at by unknown enemies was irritating, and damaging Eames' favourite hobby (for future reference: napping)—and at least with Cobb and Arthur he has a chance of knowing which goon of the day wants to mount his kneecaps on a wall.

"Enjoy yourself," Cobb calls across to Arthur, as Arthur slides his jacket back on. Arthur looks back at Cobb with an angrier expression than he threw at Eames last week for forgetting to tell him about the broken chair (Arthur's chair broke mid-extraction, and crumpled the Eiffel Tower like it was a soda can being recycled.)

"It's just a _thing_ ," Arthur says, looking at the exit like—Eames imagines - it's the entranceway to fun and happiness and joy. Arthur squares his shoulders, sighs, and heads for the door regardless of his reluctance. Eames pickpockets him as he passes, just because he can, but mostly because he's a dick.

No, really, he'll admit it in front of anyone he likes. (Those he _doesn't_ like get a more practical—aka violent—demonstration.)

"Your cousin's wedding is a thing?" Eames asks incredulously, looking down at the gilded invitation, smoothing his fingertips over the creamy dimpled card that's at least 200gsm and Eames _hates_ that he knows that, stupid Arthur and his stupid specificity rubbing off on him.

"Specifically," Arthur says, one his favourite words, "my _cousin_ is the _thing_."

There's a fond tone to Arthur's antipathy that makes Eames realise it's probably more the _wedding_ he's reluctant to go to. Eames can empathise with that. Bloody family functions are the worst things _ever_. Especially when you have to cover what it is you do for a living.

For example, at Christmas, Eames had to tell his Grandmother he works in a _cubicle_.

Even thinking of it now, it's hard not to shudder.

Eames holds out the invitation and Arthur stares at it, pats his pocket, and rolls his eyes before starting to cross the floor. Eames still keeps hold of it for a moment, even as Arthur's hand snaps out. "At least you got invited to the reception." The _plus one_ line flashes in gold as it catches the light as Arthur grabs it back, a repressed snarl clear in the back of his throat.

Eames has never been particularly academically smart. Street smarts, he's got tons of that. Or, he thought he did. He might be wrong. Someone with street smarts would never utter what Eames does as Arthur turns to walk away, shoulders still hunched like a man walking to the gallows. "Who you taking with you?"

"No-" Arthur starts, and turns his head, and looks at Eames speculatively. "Cobb, did that sound like someone volunteering to you?"

"It _did_ ," Cobb says, with an unmistakeable note of glee. Eames can't help but be cross at it. Give the man back his freedom and his kids and every day's a bloody happiness fest. He preferred gloomy emo Cobb, because at least then he could _shoot_ him for being a wanker. Emo Cobb messed up, it meant violence and death and unexpected freight trains. _This_ Cobb messes up, and he brings in tubs of jelly (all right, _jello,_ weird Americans and their weird language) and ice cream to say sorry.

Eames would have pissed off halfway across the globe, except he does like raspberry ~~jelly~~ jello, and it's hard to be mad when Arthur's licking melted ice-cream from a teaspoon, the corner of his tongue darting out and lapping up the creamy liquid, and-

Just _bloody fuck_ Cobb and his new mission to make Eames' life _hell_. Eames should have stabbed him in the gut in Mombasa when he had the chance, an instant before Cobb asked about his handwriting, an instant after Cobb insulted his spelling and nearly lost him a good hundred thou.

And then Eames realises what Arthur and Cobb are saying, and his stomach drops. " _No_ ," he says, "absolutely not. I am not going to your _thing's_ wedding," he finishes, wondering what placement on _list of things he never really expected to say in his life_ that phrase should hold. Number 43, he thinks, maybe. Somewhere above, "I got a little turned on when Saito bought the airline", but far, far below "Arthur has the most delightful arse, don't you think so, Ariadne?"

He was pissed at that last one, but he's sober now, and apparently he's just that bad at making life decisions.

"No?" Arthur says. He looks at Eames for a moment, calm and- oh crap, calculating. "So I don't have to tell Cobb who taught Phillipa and James to-"

"I'd _love_ to come," Eames says, grabbing his jacket.

#

Eames was right about Hell having an ETA of 5 minutes.

This... is Hell. Arthur's family... is _Hell_.

And Arthur is laughing his ass off as he gets away with helping set up the most ridiculous stand of cupcakes Eames has ever seen in his life, while Eames is surrounded by all _seven_ of Arthur's sisters.

Seven.

All of them with Arthur's serious expressions and intensity and desire for specificity and driving curiosity.

Also, they seem to hold Arthur's imperviousness to his flirting in _spades_.

Arthur has always told Eames that his antagonism towards him would not go unrewarded. Eames had deciphered that as _punishment_ , and here it is.

"So you and Arthur have known each other how long?" Angelina asks. They're all A names. Angelina, Anna, Aimee, Alex, Agatha, Alison and Amelia. No wonder Arthur gets on so well with Ariadne.

"Professionally, ten years," Eames says. "On and off."

" _Professionally,_ " Anna picks up on. Eames stares at her, awkwardly. Alarmed. Anxiously. Eames can only think in _A_ words.

"Only professionally," Eames amends.

"Right," Aimee says, in that patronising way Arthur has perfected when he thinks Eames is lying. "You're here as his _colleague_."

There are _air quotes_ in her voice. Eames stares at her mutely (appalled, abysmally) and feels like he's been neatly trapped in something which might explode at any minute.

"I am his colleague," Eames says. The truth even sounds like a lie to him. "We used to work occasionally together and now I'm permanently on his team."

"What is it that you do, again?" Alex says. He thinks she must be the closest to Arthur in age. She's attractive (another A word)—they all are. It's almost disturbing.

"I didn't say," Eames says.

"Resource extraction," Arthur says, swooping in to his rescue. "I'm Mr. Cobb's personal assistant, Mr. Eames here reforests areas our team has depleted."

"Oh, Mr. Cobb," Agatha sighs. "Pity he was married."

"I remember Cobb," Amelia agrees. "He would have been a good boyfriend for you, Arthur."

Arthur makes a strangled sound, which Eames glees over. "I have work to do," he mutters, and wanders off, muttering something about good deeds and punishment.

"Mr. Eames, are all the guys who work in extraction as hot as you and Mr. Cobb?" Alison asks.

"Just Eames, please," he says, and looks automatically over at Arthur as he says, "Yes, quite. I think so." When he turns back to Arthur's seven sisters, they're _sighing_ and looking at him fondly. Eames glowers at them crossly. " _What_?"

"You're _adorable_ ," Angelina coos.

Great, Eames thinks. _Another_ A word.

#

  
So, Arthur's mother is Greek, which is something Eames thinks he's known all along, even though he doesn't research the people he works with (why bother, is Eames' philosophy, when you have an Arthur?) and as such the wedding is a raucous affair. Arthur's cousin Annie is delightful, and the man she's marrying must have passed Arthur's rigorous testing and background checks, otherwise Arthur wouldn't be sharing a non-spiked beer with him.

Eames manages to shake Arthur's sisters, but is grabbed by Arthur's aunts almost straight afterwards. He calls them all ma'am with a terrified expression, because he hadn't even known so many A names existed. He's a gentleman and dances with them all at the reception, gets sandwiched between them in a raucous circle dance, and then Arthur rescues him when the first slow dance starts, and Eames is so relieved he almost kisses him.

He gets close enough to before he realises what he's doing. As it is, it takes Eames a moment to shift his hands from Arthur's shoulders, and a moment longer to tear his gaze up from Arthur's mouth. Arthur just looks bemused, even as Eames swallows. "Come meet my parents," Arthur says, before Eames can say anything.

Arthur's parents are in their early sixties, and are bickering in a way that reminds Eames of him and Arthur, so he's blushing when Arthur says, "Mama, Papa, this is Eames. Eames, this is Adriana and Andrew, my mom and my dad." If Arthur looks like this when he's older, he's still going to be _ludicrously_ attractive, Eames thinks. That doesn't help his ridiculously timed blush.

"Arthur tells me you work with him," Andrew says, gripping Eames' hand with a firm hold. He has wide, honest eyes and a pleasant smile. Eames finds himself wanting to please him automatically. "In the extraction field."

"Yes," Eames says, relieved he doesn't have to lie to this man. He gets the impression it's sort of difficult to. On a _moral_ level. "Arthur's the best in his field. It's a pleasure to work with him."

Arthur shoots him a look that's just a little too calculating for Eames' comfort. Shit, Eames thinks, he's clocked that wasn't really a lie. Arthur's going to be _insufferable_ , except his expression fades into something softer, like he's just pleased by the compliment.

"Eames," Adriana says, bringing Eames' attention back to her. She tilts her head, and Eames realises that's where Arthur gets that movement from. "That can't be your first name."

"No," Eames says, and then, feeling somehow like he's been tricked into this admits, highly embarrassed, "my first name is Austin."

"An _A_ name," Adriana squeals, sounding delighted. Eames' smile is a little fixed, until he notices Arthur's left hand twitching, and he grins genuinely because he can't help it. When Andrew and Adriana excuse themselves to go help dish out the koufeta, Eames grabs for Arthur's wrist. Arthur shoots him a displeased look but doesn't wrestle his arm away, so he's not _really_ angry.

"Just stopping you from going for your smart phone," Eames says, "seeing as you _didn't know my first name and are dying to research me_." He's gloating quite a bit, because this is _Arthur_ and the fact that he didn't know Eames' real first name is sort of _glorious_.

"I'm not _dying_ ," Arthur snits, and then relents enough to add, "but you know I'm going to research what delicious facts you have attached to that name as soon as I get to a laptop."

"I could have lied about my name."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "To _my_ parents? Please. You could practically say extraction is going into the family business. Five minutes alone with my dad and you're spilling decades old _dental_ history in an attempt to prove to him you're squeaky clean."

"So I guess you're daddy's little boy, then?" Eames says.

"I'm more mom's favorite," Arthur says, with no hesitation or guilt.

"Because you're her _prettiest_ girl," Eames says, because he's a dick, and because it's _funny_.

Arthur just gives him that _look_ while Eames fakes unrepentance. Arthur shakes his head and laughs a little, like it's _life_ that's funny and not Eames. "C'mon. Let's steal some cake and get out of here."

"I thought you'd _never_ say that," Eames says, exaggerating his relief. Some of it is genuine. Arthur has a _million_ aunts and while it's nice they all want to dance with him, it's sort of disturbing to be surrounded by so many people with Arthur's eyes and wry humor.

Their escape plan would have been a thousand times more awesome if a) they did get cake and b) some idiots with guns didn't gatecrash the wedding a few moments before Eames was about to swipe the whole third tier.

#

At first, Eames thinks they're there for him, or Arthur, or maybe a combination. It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you, and all that.

But from the way the four guys in black tell everyone to get down on the ground, it's pretty clear this is just a random robbery.

"You're thinking what I'm thinking, right?" Eames hisses to Arthur, as they start demanding people hand over their jewellery.

"That your ass looks amazing in those pants?"

Eames double takes. Arthur is actually staring at. Well. His arse. _At a time like this_.

Well, it makes sense for Arthur to be a dangerholic, the life he leads. All their violence and action takes place in dreams, they're only ever in danger of their _minds_ going to mush, never their bodies, so the first taste of some _actual_ action in a long time is bound to get any dangerholic's pulse racing.

And Eames is a catch. Arthur's _bound_ to latch onto him.

"You're still a dick," Arthur offers, almost contemplatively, but Eames doesn't take it to heart, because it's really true. "But I thought I should point out the ass thing because most people can't easily see their own ass."

"Yours is splendid too, dear," Eames says, because it is, and because this feels surreal, and he can't lunge for his totem without getting a gun pushed in his direction.

"As much as I appreciate this aside, I was also thinking we could take these guys." Arthur gives his face the sidelong glance this time, and Eames colors a little—because of _course_ Arthur was playing with him, and he was an idiot for thinking he could be serious, and, oh god, after all of this Eames is going to the bar and drowning his sorrows in the nearest ten litres of alcohol, whatever it is. Even if it is the punch he saw Aunt Aliona spiking earlier.

"If the room's a clock with the wedding cake at noon, ten o' clock and two haven't taken the safety catches off, three o'clock hasn't even loaded a magazine into it, and the guy at noon is the only competent one," Arthur says.

"So maybe we should get his attention?"

"I think we might already have attracted his attention," Arthur says, "seeing as everyone else is cowering in terror and we're talking like we're just having a walk in the park."

"When have we _ever_ just had a walk in the park?" Eames demands, as Noon wanders over, his gun outstretched.

"Oy-" is as far as Noon gets. Arthur looks up.

"I'm talking with my friend, here," Arthur says. Eames stares, because apart from the guys in black they're all flat on the floor, head near their hands, and Arthur's _still_ out BAMFing the idiot. From a _sleeping_ position.

Which is when Eames has the realisation that Arthur really doesn't _hate_ him. Maybe it's dislike at the worst, but it's not _hate_ , because if Arthur hated him? Eames would probably be paste on the _floor_.

It's an odd time for a life revelation, because a world without Arthur hating him has a delightful array of warm possibilities.

"Arthur," Arthur's mother hisses, "what are you _doing_?"

Eames is so distracted, by Arthur's mom and his own thoughts, he nearly misses Arthur getting up and punching Noon's lights out in one easy graceful move. Arthur grabs the gun as Noon's body tumbles to the ground.

"Getting the wedding back on track," Arthur says, like he's discussing the weather. Over a room full of his relatives in posh wedding gear, cowering on the floor amongst the tables as three guys with gun stare at Arthur.

Two o'clock flails for the safety catch and Arthur casually lifts Noon's gun and shoots the gun out of his hand. Ten o'clock is the next to go—trying to fire his gun with the safety catch _still_ on—but Arthur flings Noon's gun at his face, _hard_. Ten o'clock stumbles, but Arthur does a move Eames recognises from the dreamscape, running and sliding over a table, knocking the contents to the ground, in time to land an uppercut under Ten o' clock's chin.

"Leave some for me," Eames howls, getting to his feet and looking over at Three o' clock. Who looks down at his gun, clicks it uselessly, and stares at Eames and Arthur before screaming and running for the exit. "Oh, great, see what you made him do?"

"Oh, it's my fault?" Arthur demands. "You were the one being slow."

" _Slow_." Eames rolls his eye and grabs for the nearest thing he can find—a dinner plate—and flings it at Three o' clock like a Frisbee. It shatters over Three's head and he lands in a heap, inches from the Exit door. "Slow?"

"It's a good thing speed doesn't impress me," Arthur says, deliberately flickering his eyes at Eames' ass again, and Eames stares at him for a moment.

"Seriously? Violence is your kink?"

Arthur shakes his head. "No." He looks over contemplatively at Two o'clock, who's busy bleeding over the floor from the gunshot wound in his hand. Eames looks over, and misses Arthur leaning in closer. "More like _you're_ my kink."

Arthur pulls back, smiles impishly, and then looks at Two o' clock seriously. "Guess we'd better call an ambulance," he says.

"I don't know whether to thank you or be _completely appalled_."

Eames turns in time to see Arthur's cousin clamber up from the ground, from where she had cowered in a heap of gauzy wedding dress. Her name is A... something something. Eames can't remember. If he needs her name he'll say A and mumble.

"Annie," Arthur says, holding up his hands. The bride looks a little _murderous_. Eames is the one who is appalled. They've just saved their _wedding reception_ from _marauding (_ albeit inept _) burglars_ and ungratefulness is one of the options? _Family_ , Eames thinks with derision, mentally throwing up his hands.

"You should be thankful," Eames says, and slides smoothly into character. "We picked this up at our _first_ office paintball retreat. You don't want to know the slaughter of the second time. Are all of you that competitive?"

"They all really are," Annie's new husband interjects glumly, dusting off the knees of his rented tuxedo and shooting wary looks at his new bride.

He's married _into_ all that competitiveness, Eames thinks. _Deliberately_. Why anyone would marry into a family this crazy is entirely, well- Eames looks over to where Arthur's pulled the nearest first aid kit down to bandage up Two o' clock's hand, and the answer's not beyond him.

It's not beyond him at all.

#

Somehow, with Eames and Arthur lying their asses off to the cops, and an odd invented tale about escaped mental patients, the reception starts again, although this time Arthur's Aunts seem to be avoiding both of them.

Which is all right with Eames.

He sits to one side with Arthur at one of the tables, drinking some of the spiked punch.

"Are all your family weddings this exciting?" Eames asks. Arthur smiles ruefully, watching the dance floor, where Annie and her new husband are twirling under the fairy lights, smiling softly at each other.

"This is the first one I haven't wanted to blow my own brains out at," Arthur says. "Maybe you're my lucky charm."

"Darling, I don't believe in luck," Eames says, aiming for a light tone, but Arthur turns his face to him, and perhaps it didn't come _out_ so lightly. Eames thinks he's possibly blushing, and he'll blame the extraordinary amount of vodka Aunt Aliona added to the punch later if he has to.

Arthur shuffles his chair closer, and puts his hand on Eames', and Eames really hopes now he won't have to blame the vodka. "I think we have a conversation to finish."

Eames thinks about Arthur saying _he's_ his kink, and aims for noncommittal. "Hmm?"

"About your ass in those pants."

Eames looks at Arthur blankly, trying not to let his hope shine through. "I thought you were joking about that."

Arthur looks back at Eames. Eames knows this expression. It's his _Eames is an idiot_ expression. It's the one he wears almost as much as _Shut up, I'm busy researching_ and _Where can I follow Cobb today?_ "Mr. Eames, when it comes to your ass, I am entirely serious."

Eames' hope starts jumping around in his chest like a cheerleader on steroids, but life is never so kind, and instead, Eames finds he has a different need - he starts coughing. Arthur looks at him, curious, until pure horror replaces _Eames is an idiot_.

"My dad's right behind us, isn't he?" Arthur asks, sotto voce.

Eames nods, trying not to wince.

"Start talking about your last root canal," Arthur advises, through clenched teeth.

Eames tries not to be pissed off that Arthur's researched his dental history, faces Andrew, and hesitantly smiles.

#

"I can't believe you _left me with him for two hours_."

They finally escaped from the wedding, with the _fourth_ tier of the wedding cake in tow in a carrier bag dangling from Arthur's hand. (They figured it was payment for their wedding rescue.)

"He's my dad," Arthur says. "I _can't_ lie to him."

"Apparently neither can I," Eames grouches. It's dark on the streets, and raining lightly, but Arthur's not making a move to get a cab, so Eames just follows him. He doesn't really have any clue where they are, but it doesn't matter. Once Arthur's settled, he'll find his way back to his hotel. "I've successfully found fifty different metaphors for our extraction work, and thank _goodness_ I had my military background to explain _your_ knowledge of guns."

"You were in the army a _week_ ," Arthur says.

Eames shoots Arthur a dirty look. "It was a difficult week." Arthur looks unconvinced. "Our personalities didn't mesh." Arthur _still_ looks unconvinced. "Your background checks are ridiculously extensive," he finishes with instead, which Arthur accepts. "Besides, your dad accepted it."

"Yeah," Arthur says, "he's a little gullible. He still thinks the toaster in Fifth Grade just blew up on its own."

"Without the aid of the Poptarts you tried to explode?" Eames says.

Arthur frowns. "How did you-"

Eames taps the side of his nose.

"My sisters," Arthur realises.

"Every _single one of them_ ," Eames says. "They thought I was dating you and therefore needed all the ammunition and help I could get."

"Ah," Arthur says.

"Your dad told me too. Alison ratted you out in order for an allowance increase after you'd gone to college."

Arthur stops, so Eames copies him, tilting his head curiously. "So my sisters told you because they thought we were dating. So why did dad tell you?"

Eames raises his eyebrows. He doesn't use _Arthur is an idiot_ as an expression much, mostly because Arthur takes it so _personally_ , but he's used it enough for Arthur to recognise it.

"Oh," Arthur says, realising. "And you didn't dissuade him otherwise?"

"How could I?" Eames says. "I managed to keep the secret of our job from him. But I couldn't keep it secret how I feel about you."

Arthur, the master of control, the king of denying natural impulses, and an ace at managing the emotion-to-facial-expression process, slowly _blushes_. "Oh?" Arthur manages, eventually.

"Hey," Eames says, "You're the one with a _me_ kink."

Arthur's color slowly deepens, but Arthur manages to effectively pair it with a _I can shoot you_ expression.

"Besides," Eames says, "I was just saving time. It means we don't have to tell them later."

"Tell them _what_?"

"Your feelings about my ass in these pants."

Arthur looks away from Eames, but a smile tugs at his mouth. When he looks up at Eames, his face is serious again. "I suppose my Aunts might all have a heart attack if I tell them. Although-"

"Although?"

"Maybe you'll look better without them on."

"Yeah," Eames agrees. "Best not to tell them that."

Arthur makes this agreeing sound in the back of his throat, and moves in closer, pushing up against Eames and smiling again, but this smile looks predatory. Eames' mouth is dry and he looks down at Arthur, probably smiling like an idiot in return. Eames' body has the reaction it normally does around Arthur, although normally he's not so close, and Arthur grins, feeling it. "Mr. Eames," Arthur purrs. "I am _impressed_."

Eames rolls his eyes, and Arthur moves up to kiss him, and Eames pauses, Arthur's mouth an inch from his own. "Wait, does this mean I have to come to _all_ your family weddings in the future?"

"I could take Cobb," Arthur says. "He's not married. My sisters already think he'd make a good boymmmhmmm-"

Arthur's not able to finish his sentence, due to having an Eames attached at the mouth.

#

  
("I can kiss you to _shut you up_ ," Eames says after, wonderingly.

"That _works both ways,_ " Arthur tells him, and demonstrates accordingly, multiple times.

Eames doesn't complain.

Even when Angelina, Anna, Aimee, Alex, Agatha, Alison and Amelia all get married over the next year. Even Arthur's family is survivable when he has an Arthur beside him.)

# 


End file.
